“Doing it.”
Jackson hung up and said a prayer that TomBart would call him back. All he could do now was drive and pray.
As he hurled the Suburban around corner after corner, dodging people with boats and trailers and trucks bringing supplies up to the small village, he started thinking the very worst.
His phone finally rang. He noticed a Payson exchange number and let a sigh of relief. “TomBart is that you?”
“Yes, it's me, JackAttack. What’s going on?”
“Listen, this is very complicated, but I need your help. I think someone has kidnapped my wife and kids. They’re either half way up in your direction or possibly in Payson already. They are in a yellow Ryder Truck. AZ License W3R7B9. Can you put feelers out without alerting anyone? This cannot go through normal channels, understand? I’ll explain later.”
“Sure, let me see what I can do.”
“Call me back if you find anything. You have no idea how thankful I am for the help,” Jackson said.
“Not a problem for a fellow TRACE.”
He arrived at mile forty and pulled off onto the shoulder, putting his flashers on. There was nothing anywhere. No truck. Nothing out of place.
On the left side of the two northern lanes was a cliff going straight up. On the right, it was straight down. He looked over the edge and was staring down into a two-thousand-foot canyon loaded with Saguaro cactus and pinon pine trees. Shit. A semi could be down there and no one would ever see it. He hung onto the rail as he caught his breath.
He got back in the rig and called Ryan. “Is the phone still there?”
“Yes, still getting the signal.”
He told him about the canyon. There was nothing anyone could do. There was no other turnoffs or towns before Payson, so they had to have gone up there.
“Get into Payson's city system and get their street cams. See if you can find the truck coming into town,” Jackson said.
In some ways he was relieved, although he could only imagine what they had all been going through slamming around in the back of that damned truck on this road. They had to have been terrified.
“Hold on. I have the main intersection coming into town. Let me go to current and back it up from there,” Ryan was tapping keys on the other end of the line.
They figured it would have happened ninety minutes earlier based on the grab in the Valley and when the phone ended up in the canyon.
“Yes, it pulled into town at 10:17 a.m. That's the one. By the way, I did a preliminary search of the dude's name on the contract. It is definitely your old boss. No question.” Ryan said.
“What in the hell is he doing with a Government ID? Stay on that and get on every other camera in the area and see if you can follow where it went.”
Jackson pushed the accelerator down and noticed he was going near 100. The engine whined and sounded like it was about ready to explode. Having the low profile tires was not helping as he lurched over every tar strip on the road. He was hanging on for life, lunging back and forth around the curves and praying no State Trooper was around a corner with radar.
“Don't look over the edge. Look straight ahead. Breathe,” he had to keep reminding himself.
He was ten miles from town when Ryan called back. “I got them going through three main intersections, then they went north on 87/260 and headed out of town, straight towards the rim.”
“Damn. OK. Keep looking and then check back and see what everyone else is doing at Fountain Hills.”
His phone vibrated and Baldwin pulled it out and looked at the message.
“I’ll be back in a while,” he said to his assistant, and stood up.
He walked out of the Spook House and got into his Federal Issued Chevy Malibu and drove to a strip mall near Central. There were several Arab owned shops and restaurants there.
He parked and walked into Ali’s Bakery and Coffee House. Several older men nodded as he walked through and into the back room. There at the table sat Imam Al- Saddiq from the West Valley Islamic Center, sipping tea.
Baldwin bowed. “Salaam, Imam.”
He had met the Imam when he was recruiting Muslims to work for the Federal government, and the two had since become friends.
“We have the wife and children,” the Imam said.
“Excellent! Where have you taken them?”
“Somewhere up north. They are well hidden. No one will find them.”
“What about Juan?” Baldwin asked.
“They still have him. But the kidnapping should change things. It should only be a matter of time before they release him to us,” the Imam replied.
“Has he talked yet?” Baldwin asked.
“We don’t know, but it does not matter. They are a tiny group, and Allah is great and powerful. They will not stop what he has put into place,” the Imam said ominously.
“I spoke to Brunell’s wife and she knows nothing. She will call me if he gets in touch with her.” Baldwin said.
“Allah’s sword is on its way and he will be glorified soon. Right here, in front of the world. His name be praised. Nothing will stand in our way!” the Imam stated.
“Let me see what I can find out about Juan. Salaam, my Imam,” Baldwin said.
“Salaam to you my brother,” the Imam returned.
27
Jackson hit town and could barely force himself to drive the thirty-five miles per hour speed limit the city posted.
He called TomBart back. “Here's what I got. They headed north through town, then we lost them. Do you have any connections on the north side that can take a look around?”
“There's a lot of seasonal cabins up here. Let me talk to my brother. He's a firefighter; he has a helicopter and uses it for aerial. We'll do a little search, and I'll call you back. By the way, my real name is Tom Bartholomew. What's yours?”
“Jackson. Jim Jackson.”
“As in THE Jim Jackson that used to run Intel at the Arizona State Patrol?” Tom asked, incredulous.
“The one and only,” Jackson replied.
“Shit, Jackson. Whatever you need. I had no idea. I thought you were a car guy in the Valley.”
How nice to have the support of someone he trusted. The TRACEs had an ‘us against the world’ mentality. If you told one to keep their mouth shut, you knew they would. It didn't hurt that he was also a fellow law enforcement officer.
“Thanks Tom. I’ll be in touch.” Jackson hung up.
Jackson's phone rang again, and it was Ryan..
“I just got a text on your phone. It has a picture.” He said slowly and quietly.
“What is on the picture?” Jackson asked.
“It's your wife and kids….”
“What are they doing?” He shouted in a panic.
“They are all tied up with gags in their mouths. There is a big dude with tats standing over them, with a pistol pointed at them,” Ryan said reluctantly.
“Those sons of bitches! I’m going to kill both of them with my bare hands!” Jackson screamed in a panic.
He knew it was the goons. Those bastards.
“What do the surroundings look like, and what do they want?” Jackson asked.
“It looks like a cabin. Knotty pine walls. The message on the bottom says We Have Them. ’’
“Shit!”
He hung up and called Tom back.
“They’ve got them in a cabin. Must be north of town.”
“Where are you now?”
“Just pulling out of town. I just drove past the McDonald’s on Main and 260.” Jackson replied.
“Keep coming north. I’m about four miles up. Look to your right for tall pine gates that say ‘Massada Ranch.’ I’ll come down and meet you.”
The road started going straight up as he neared the rim. There was nothing else like it in the US. Two hundred continuous miles of a giant prehistoric mesa that jutted straight up from the valley below, covered with huge Ponderosa pine trees.
He saw the big gates off to the right an
d pulled in. They were locked.
There was a cloud of dust coming down the small road leading from the entry.
Tom pulled up and swung around in a brand new six-man ATV. He got out and opened the gate.
“You made it! Come on up.” He waved him through before closing and locking the gate behind him. He walked up to Jackson and put out his hand. “Great to finally meet you. Follow me.”
He followed behind as Tom drove up the road. They went nearly a half mile up the narrow gravel road, surrounded on both sides by towering pines. They rounded a corner through the trees and Jackson saw the most spectacular log home he thought he had ever seen. Sitting on the huge circle drive were vehicles of every kind; Hummers, ATVs, pickups, motorcycles, Jeeps, snowmobiles on trailers, and even a tank-treaded Snowcat.
Jackson saw a large barn off to the right. There were four more outbuildings to the left, all large, but the main house alone was stunning.
“Park it over there, and come on in,” Tom said.
He pulled up and got out, taking in the scope of the place and the smell of the clean, fresh pine.
“Jeeze, Tom, I thought you were a deputy cop? What’s the deal with the freaking resort?
“This? My grandfather was one of the first landowners up this way. He had more than 100,000 acres of land at one time. My dad sold off 80,000 acres over the years. He passed about ten years back, but my brother and I still have nearly 20,000 left. Needless to say, Dad did pretty well. Brad’s place is down over that ridge.”
He looked off in the distance and saw another palace about a mile away.
“Holy crap, Tom. I have heard about places like this around here, but I’ve never been up close enough to see one. Why in the world are you still a cop?” Jackson asked.
“Well, I obviously don’t need to work, but I want to work. The sheriff up here is a personal friend of the family. We all go way back. Plus, I love what I do. It keeps me in the game. And frankly, with all the bullshit coming out of Phoenix and DC these days, we need all the help we can get.” Tom said.
“Wow. If I had all this, I’d never work another day in my life, but I get you,” Jackson said.
“Come on in! You must be parched.” Tom offered.
They walked through two tall doors, and Jackson’s jaw hit the floor. They were standing in the entry of the grandest living room he had ever seen. It was three stories high and the wall they were looking at was floor to ceiling windows. It had to be a hundred feet across.
The views were staggering.
“Holy crap, Tom! This is unreal!”
“Some days I can almost see down to the valley. Depends on how much smog leaks over the range.”
“I can believe that.” Jackson replied.
“Come on in. You want a cold, home brew?” Tom offered.
Jackson looked at the spectacular gourmet kitchen. There were two large commercial gas ranges and four Wolf refrigerator freezers. The gear in the kitchen alone probably cost more than the dumpy trailer he lived in.
“Sounds great, but no thanks. I need to stay sharp.” Jackson said.
“You sure? We have the best Craft Brewery in the state. Won a ton of awards. We make about ten thousand gallons a year and give it away to support the sheriff and firefighter departments up here. My brother is one heck of a brew master.” Tom said.
“That sounds so good, Tom, but I can’t,” Jackson said apologetically.
“No prob. How about some fresh spring water?” Tom asked
“Now you’re talking,” Jackson said.
“We have our own fresh water spring up here. It has a five-hundred-year supply, so we've been told. It's one of the reasons I chose this site to build on - along with the view, of course. Now, let’s get serious. How are you fixed for gear? Any weapons?” Tom asked.
“I have my .45 XD(M) in the car with an extra box of ammo. That’s about it,” Jackson said.
“We are going to need more than that, my man. Come on, let’s see what we can do.”
He noticed Tom said ‘we.’ That made him both comfortable and nervous at the same time. He wasn't sure how much to tell him, and he sure didn't want to drag Tom into something that may end up deadly.
They walked down a long hall past eight suites. He stuck his head into one and it was a plush master and bath setup. “This is just plain amazing, Tom. Do you get a lot of visitors?” Jackson asked.
“We get a lot of folks down here during hunting season. Mostly cops who are recovering from shootings or those fired over false accusations and that kind of thing. Also, a lot of vets with PTSD. We welcome injured Firefighters and First Responders too. We try to make them as comfortable as possible. They deserve it.” Tom said.
“Wow, that is so cool. I bet they love coming here,” Jackson admired in total awe.
“It's a little ministry of ours since they are not given the best of treatment by the government, if you know what I mean. It's not much, be it's the least we can do to show our appreciation,” Tom said.
They got all the way to the end, and Tom opened a large pine door. There was an elevator inside. He pressed a button and the doors opened. Jackson was literally speechless. They went down one level, and the doors opened to a short hall with three doors.
They walked to the center door, and Tom slid his hand across a reader and punched in eight numbers on the security pad. “It’s the latest Israeli security. Can’t be too careful with what we've got inside.”
The door opened and the lights came on automatically.
Jackson stood with his mouth open. It was a full armory.
There were rows of rifles, shelves of pistols, and large floor cases of knives. There were even hand grenades and shoulder-fired missile launchers on shelves at the end of the room.
“Holy crap, Tom. You guys are ready for WWIII up here!”
“Damn right. When everything goes down, we figure we’ll be the last ones standing. With all the gun grabbing going on these days, you need to be prepared. We just keep adding to the collection.”
Jackson nodded, knowing how true that was - the going down part, anyway.
He was tempted to tell him about the situation they were up against, but stopped. He still didn't know how much he could trust him, plus, he didn’t want to put him in danger.
Tom loaded up a four-wheeled flat cart with several ARs a couple of Mac 10s, six pistols, extra magazines, and six flash bangs. They also grabbed four tasers for close range work. Then he picked up four hand grenades. “These have been known to come in handy. Now let’s get some ammo.”
He walked further back into the room to another door and entered his code again. The lights flooded the room, and Jackson stood in awe. There had to be several million rounds of ammunition, stacked floor to ceiling, in the fifty-foot long room.
He had every caliber and every brand. All weights, shapes, and sizes.
“Holy God, Tom! This is way more than the State Patrol armory! I've never seen anything like this in my life!” Jackson let out a gasp.
“We have a reloading operation at my brother's place. We supply all of the sheriffs up here, and a couple of neighboring counties. We do what we can to help them out at no charge. Government budgets and all that.”
“Tell me about it,” Jackson said, rolling his eyes. “Tom, I don't know what to say. What a freaking set up! Are you worried about a fire?”
“No. Everything is four foot, reinforced concrete all the way up and around. Full rebar reinforced, and steel plated on top. This place is totally safe from fire, heat, and water. It is always a perfect sixty degrees down here too, to keep things fresh.”
“It's a freaking bunker.” Jackson marveled.
“Yeah, pretty much. Grab a few boxes and let's get moving. We need a plan. Let's see what my brother found.”
There was that ‘we’ word again.
As they went out into the hall, Tom pointed to the second door.
“That's the brewery. All the top end commercial gear in there.” He sa
id.
“And what’s behind this door?” Jackson pointed to the third.
“Um, we don’t talk about that area. Never had to use it. God willing, we’ll never have to.” Tom said.
He hit the button and the elevator opened. They rolled the cart in and headed back upstairs.
Jackson walked out into the living room and was once again awestruck by the view.
There was a wide deck the stretched the entire width of the house in back with a pool and spa sunk into the middle of the decking. To the right of that was a covered bar area that was four-sided. It had a huge commercial grill in the middle and half a dozen flat screens rimming around the top. There were at least twenty chairs in the bar area.
“You like the bar? The taps go straight down to the brewery. We have eight flavors now, but they’re seasonal. We change it up. We like to take care of our guests,” Tom said. “On Saturdays and Sundays, we have all the college and NFL games up there. These guys come from all over the country, and we want them to be able to follow their favorite teams. With the World Series coming up next week, we’re expecting a good group by the time the final games are on.”
“Wow. How cool is that?” Jackson said.
“Were expecting our first visitors of the season next week. Just been getting everything ready.” Tom said.
“This isn't a man cave, it's a freaking man palace! I bet these guys have a hard time leaving!” Jackson exclaimed.
“They seem to enjoy it pretty well,” Tom agreed sheepishly.
There was a second deck attached above and to the right side, and a stairway leading up to it. The top deck was loaded with telescopes, antennae and viewing equipment.
“Up there, we spot wildlife and fires. The guys love to go hang up there at night and stargaze too. It's unreal up here, out of the city. You feel like you can actually reach out and touch the stars. It’s a great therapy for most of them. Getting them out into nature.”
He was observing the views down the valley and as a helicopter came into view in the distance. It was a Sikorsky. A really nice, really big one.
They walked out on the deck and watched it land on the pad next to a tower with obvious avionics, satellite dishes and radar.
Black Flag Rising: A James Jackson Thriller Page 14
